


ROBOT ROLL CALL

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Computer Programming, Doppelcest, Doppelganger, Exhibitionism, Hacking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Robot Sex, Robots, Voyeurism, proxy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BROBOT: You’re on!<br/>KARKAT: Oh my stars!<br/>DIRK STRIDER: Check me out!<br/>SOLLUX: I’m different!</p><p>Sollux finally hacks Brobot, longing to take Dirk down a notch. The result is even better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ROBOT ROLL CALL

Thirty seconds ago, your fingers were a blur on the keyboard of your husktop, writing line after line of blue and red code. Absolute binary. Perfect symmetry. Closing every elsif. Defining every variable.

Now your code’s compiling and your head hurts. You push your glasses up onto your forehead, massaging your temples. If you didn’t have this much self-control, you probably would have fried your bee farm with an accidental discharge. You don’t even have a target for this virus yet. Well, you do, but you don’t have a location.

The problem is, Dirk’s bots are hard to find.

In digital space, at least. Physically, they are where they’ve always been: in his home, plugged into his basement when they aren’t in use. But even though you know Dirk can control them remotely, they’re impossible to find as addresses in the ether of digital space. The closest you’ve come is having a long, drawn-out chat with his autonomous auto-responder, who agreed with you that this is a fucking awesome idea that will hopefully take that arrogant human down a few pegs.

Code’s still compiling. Turning your attention to a separate monitor, you get a query running in the background. Can’t be long now. Yeah, there it is. One, two—three pings, the last one taking longer than the others. That’s probably it.

Just to be sure, you crack into the outlier, looking through the digital files for some kind of—of course. Dirk’s logical. Very organized. He has headers and subheaders and subsubheaders for all the different routines this bot has. You scroll through again—did you miss something? There. Yes. At the very top, just where <body> begins, in the metatags. Every appendage extension is here, every joint and flexor annotated and labeled.

What a fucking prick, this thing has a functional genital.

A voicebox with an admirable text to speech translator. Functional eyes and ears. A subroutine that saves audio and video to cloud storage. Touch responsiveness. The only thing keeping you from having a totally immersive experience is the absence of tactile feedback, but with enough time, you’re sure you can design a system that involves you being completely wired into a motion suit to control this bot and feel what it feels.

Not today, though. Today is about payback.

Your code slips into the bot, and you wear Dirk’s metallic body like a second skin. “Good morning,” you purr from your end as it starts to boot up, gobbles down your code until it’s completely under your thrall. Damn, this thing is powerful. Your server hive is struggling to keep up. One of these days you’ll have to investigate the relative strengths of bee power and uranium to power your gadgets.

Why do you keep getting off-track. Right. The tech. An experimental wiggle of the fingers, manually triggering that with flying claws of your own, and you settle into the feeling. Brobot’s eyes blink open, in a manner of speaking, and you start getting a visual feed like a webcam on one of your screens. Brilliant high-definition coverage. You nearly cackle with glee. The voice synthesizer is probably just as good, and the audio feedback will be tremendous.

Everything’s in working order. As part of the boot process, the bot unplugs itself from the wall and awaits further command. Yes. Command. There’s an impressive roster here. Let’s try one.

> Find Dirk.

He’s probably around here somewhere. While the bot does its thing, you browse through the rest of the routines. Strife. Cook. Errands, with various locations geocached. Tussle. Sex. Sex? There’s an entire submenu in here, shit. Frottage. Handjob. Blowjob. Fingering. Rimming. Penetrator. Penetrated. And the bot somehow has enough personality that it can take this command and execute on its own, yet isn’t autonomous enough to throw off control.

Jegus fuck, have you ever underestimated Dirk, and does it ever give you the most throbbing wriggly you’ve ever had in your life.

Dirk’s at his own husktop, messaging away with those obnoxious shades on his face and no other expression. Why won’t he pay attention when you’re standing right there? Oh, right. He doesn’t know you’re here. Time to activate the text to speech.

> 2triider.

“Thtri-ider,” the bot says, your quirk preserved, and your hand is already down your pants.

Dirk freezes. Turns around slowly. “Oh, hey, dude, I didn’t realize you were—“

> 2triider.

You can see him swallow. A shaking hand comes up to take off his shades. His eyes are wide, deep gold reflecting. The afternoon sun lights up the whiteness of his hair. This human is so alien to you and you will never stop rejoicing in your differences. “Sollux,” he finally recognizes you.

> Kiss.

The bot moves forward, giving you an amazing close-up of his delicate face, the arch of his cheekbones, the dusting of freckles, before all you see is a one inch square patch of skin next to his nose as the bot does as you say. This part, though, isn’t so much about the sight as it is the sound: when Dirk tries to breathe in, there’s a hitch in his throat, and his sigh sounds out with the hint of a moan underneath.

You could get used to this.

Dirk pulls away and his lips are glossy and bruised. Of course. He’s been kissing metal. Doesn’t stop him from looking absolutely debauched already. “A week,” he muses, though you catch on to the strain in his so-called casual tone. “Didn’t think it’d take you that long. Should I make it _harder_ next time?”

He does realize he’s just taunting you at this point, right? Especially with the emphasis on that adjective.

> Strip.

The bot hasn’t stopped the kissing program yet, but you didn’t exactly tell it where. Its next mouth contact is with Dirk’s cheek, then his jaw. By the time Brobot makes it to his throat, Dirk’s shirt is already most of the way off. He looks glorious half-naked, and you get an excellent view of every tensed muscle in his back when the bot kisses along the slope of his shoulder. This is why you fell into a quadrant with him in the first place. Stupid sexy Strider.

> Stop kissing.

The bot pulls back, and you get a better view of his face. “Holy shit,” he whispers. He looks and sounds like he just got punched in the chest and he’s so perfect like this it resonates in your entire body. Especially your bulge. You’ve been one-handed typing for a while now—good thing you’re dexterous enough to not look like that’s what you’re doing—and when your hand gets down the front of your pants, your bulge creeps up eagerly, nudging the side of your hand, wrapping around your littlest finger. “The hell are you doing?”

> ii’m going two ruiin you.

It comes out in a stutter. Dirk just smirks. “Like to see you try.”

You can oblige.

> Handjob.

The palm of the bot’s hand hits the muscles of Dirk’s stomach, fingers headed south in that obscene trail of hair, and Dirk shudders. You can see it well enough, but you wish you could feel it. Is the bot’s skin cold or hot? Or is it not about temperature? The hand skims down. Down further, fingertips slipping past the top of his black jeans, and Dirk’s hips tilt up as if that would help.

The bot unbuttons and unzips with that hand, but the other—the other delves in immediately, and though you can’t see at the moment you know it hit home by the absolutely pornographic gasp that tears through your speakers. From what’s in your field of view, you watch his abdomen tense, sensation rolling through him and winding his muscles tighter.

“You’re an asshole,” is the next thing out of the human’s mouth. From what you can gather, the bot took away that obliging hand. Of course. Because you didn’t tell it to stop the strip program. It won’t stop until Dirk is naked as the day he hatched out of his human. Perhaps the bot kneels, because next thing you know, you’re staring right into that indent in his stomach, then his bulge, as metal hands peel the denim from Dirk’s legs. “I take it back,” he recants almost immediately, and then the bot’s vision pitches forward.

Did he just—he did. He put his hand on Brobot’s head, like he was in control of this, like he could tell it to engage his bulge with its face.

> ii 2wear two your puny human god2 that ii wiill 2crew your bulge off at the hiinge iif you try two do anythiing liike that agaiin.

> Shock.

Dirk makes an alarmed noise. The bot’s head goes back to where it was. “Do you know how hard it is to behave when you’re doing this shit to me?” he whines. You know. You just don’t care. The bot stands, engaging Dirk at eye level, and the two stare each other down before Dirk looks away, off to the side. “Fine. I’ll be good, sir.”

The word sings through you, thrumming in your bones, the sibilant sound especially getting to you. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Who’s teasing whom, here? Your bulge is twining so hard around your finger you think it might strangle your nub to an untimely death. To stave off some of the pressure, you tangle all your fingers in it, encouraging it to un-cramp by pulling your hand a little further away. This time it’s you making the noise, a reedy whine that would have embarrassed you if Dirk could hear it.

But he can’t, and you aren’t, and the bot’s doing exactly what you say and doing it so well. The camera-eyes follow the motion of his hand down to his naked—what do the humans call it—cock, and then it does exactly what you long to do and takes him in its grip. The point of a silvered finger rubs circles into the base; the shining head of it gets cradled in the heel of the hand. Dirk takes in a long, measured breath. Brobot pumps and he groans, long and obscene. The small consolation you have is that you can see gray against peach. Like you wish it was. Like it would be if you could be there.

This proxy will have to do. It is doing. Dirk is being done. Being undone, because the longer it goes, the more he gets into it. The bot’s eyes move in flashes, taking in the most important parts. His hair sticking to his forehead with sex-sweat, eyelashes fluttering as he tries to process each sensation. The movement of the lump in his throat when he swallows, the flicker of tongue against lips when he tries to wet them. The exaggerated motions of his sternum, rising and falling, sunlight and shadow moving against his skin with every inhale and exhale. The tension in his hips whenever he longs to thrust forward and take what’s being offered to him.

Your hand is absolutely drenched in golden genetic fluid. This hits every single fucking button you have. You’re taking Dirk down a notch. He’s mind-numbingly attractive like this. You got to hack into something you thought you couldn’t reach, something you never thought could be under your control. And this is two. Doppelganger. Duality. Binary. Same person. Same personality. Together. Bodies moving against each other. Racing each other to completion.

You’re going to spill if you keep thinking like this.

> Stop handjob.

Brobot doesn’t even hesitate in following your command. The smooth motion never stutters, just freezes in place. The bot’s fingers form a cage around Dirk’s cock, and for a few seconds Dirk tries to continue the motions, the sticky-slick from his clear genetic fluid lubricating his attempts. “Oh, come on,” he mutters, obviously desperate.

> Erection.

You direct the camera pointedly down while you’re at it. There’s no gradual swelling, either. The genital attachment just swivels up from between the bot’s legs. It’s hard to tell from your perspective, almost like you’re looking down at yourself, but if you had to place a bet, you’d put five hundred caegars down that this is a perfect replica of what the bot’s still gripping. This guy is so narcissistic. So are you, when it comes down to it. Your beautiful self-centeredness extends only as far as the other guy and no farther. And that’s just the way the two of you like it.

When you move the view back up, Dirk looks like the centerfold of every xenophile’s wet dream magazine. “Don’t tease me, bro,” he murmurs, but once again, his body gives away everything his voice is trying to hide. He’s leaned back against his desk, the bot pressing forward so Dirk’s ass hits the front ledge of it, and his hands are gripping it so hard you think the knuckles might burst through the skin. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

> iif you a2k niicely.

“Please,” he says immediately, huskiness softening the sharp edges of his voice, “please fuck me.”

> Fingering.

You’d never hurt him, of course. This isn’t about physical pain. This is about petty one-ups-manship, the little rivalries that make your life worth living. You can’t really watch when the bot’s hand, fingertips slicked with joint grease, gets between Dirk’s legs, but you can see the twinge in his eyebrows, the sudden slackness of his mouth, when he gets the kind of touch he’s been praying for. “Oh,” he says softly, and from the very bottom of the screen you can see him spread his thighs.

God does your bulge want to be in him. But you want to watch this, too. And you feel empty, like a fire’s scouring you from the inside and leaving nothing behind and you need to fill it with Dirk. Oh, god, but what if you—your bulge squeezes around your fingers and you chirr despite yourself—what if you were on his cock like this, your back against the bot while it fucks him, braced by human and metal and seeing this mirrored union in person—

> 2uch a fuckiing 2lut.

Dirk makes a noise when you say that, a noise you wish you could crush into a powder and snort right up your nose because it leaves you feeling drunk on your own power knowing you dragged him down this low, knowing you’re winding him up this high. “Shut up,” he moans, but when the bot directs its visual field down you can see his hips trembling. Trying not to move. Trying not to outright ride the bot’s fingers, direct them where he wants them.

Shit, if you knew he liked giving up control this much, you would have swapped roles like this a long time ago.

You’re too close to wait. He’s gagging for it, in deeds as much as words. Time to cut to the chase.

> Stop fingering.

> Penetrator.

“Yes,” Dirk hisses out when the bot pulls away. He knows what’s coming. Him, in a few minutes. His cock is straining hard, twitching to the beat of his pulse, and it falls against his stomach when the bot braces its hands on his thighs. From your vantage point, you can see the blunt tip of the bot’s genital nudge against his entrance, then slip easily inside.

Dirk shudders. You shudder with him, keeping your bulge in a chokehold so you don’t spill from just the image. Dirk isn’t near done yet, so neither are you. His body is greedy, all of him tensing, trying to hold everything in. “Sollux, fuck.”

God you wish you were there. Inside him like that, surrounded with him. Licking up the sweat that’s trickling down his neck. Thrusting into him so hard it shakes the desk. Getting your hair pulled and your horns scraped while he tries to hold on. Gripping his thighs and wrapping them around your waist. Biting his ear, his neck, his shoulder.

But what you can see is incredible. What you can hear is even more amazing. Dirk’s a loud lay. Not particularly coherent, but very enthusiastic. “Yes,” he yells out a lot, and “fuck,” and “more,” and his shrieks and moans and screams are melodic. Nothing like the chirrs and chirps and warbles that come out of you when you’re like this, and you try to keep it down so you can drink everything in that you can. “Sol, bro, touch my—“

Because he’s like you, needs something wrapped around his cock to spill. You debate holding out, denying him what he wants, but it’s so hard for you to tell him no.

> Handjob.

The bot starts jacking him off with a vengeance, jackknifing into him so hard the desk might fall apart from the force of it. You love seeing the shock of it jar his bones, jostle his frame, and yet he’s still asking for harder, better, faster, stronger. You’re afraid you might break him, this fleshy creature with no horns, no claws, no protection.

Then again, this is Dirk Strider. He’s tempered steel, never brittle, always flexible, sharp and keen and devastating. And the two of you do so love to test each other’s limits.

> 2piill.

“Yes sir,” he breathes, without even a hint of sarcasm. It only takes two more thrusts to push him over the edge, the bot milking him for all he’s worth, and his belly splatters with white genetic fluid. The ‘sir’, the sight, the sound, and you’re gone too, biting your lip so hard honey drips down to your chin when you spill over the top of your hand.

It seems like Brobot knows when to stop. While Dirk’s still catching his breath, it pulls out slowly. Like it’s done this before. With him in particular. You’ll have to ask about that later. You’re too busy putting your own scrambled thinkpan back together. What’s that thing in human mythology? Angels? He looks like one of those, if it had a desperate impact straight into Earth and all its sins. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

> ii mii22 you.

Dirk reaches up to caress the bot’s face. Even though you can’t feel it, it touches your bloodpusher. “Miss you too.”

> then come back two campu2 already, 2hiitliick.

“I came home to check on the bots, but…” He scratches the back of his neck; the corner of his mouth quirks. “I think they’re doing pretty well.”

> thii2 one’2 fiine, ii checked for known bug2 but you’ve 2coured the2e thiings pretty well.

“Then I’ll be back soon ‘s I clean up this mess.” How he can look so blasé with genetic material all over himself is beyond you. “Oh, and link me the raw footage, yeah? I’d love to see it.”

Oh, you could punch him in his smug, smarmy little face. Instead, you smile. You’ll watch it together. And next time, this won’t happen through a proxy.


End file.
